


You're My Religion

by chaoticxlovers



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Confessional Sex, Demon Jeremiah, Grieving Bruce Wayne, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, M/M, Priest Jeremiah, Priest Kink, Religious Content, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 18:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticxlovers/pseuds/chaoticxlovers
Summary: Bruce has sinned plenty of times throughout his life. But fucking a priest? Well, that one was new, and definitely guaranteed him a one way ticket to hell.





	You're My Religion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Midnightrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnightrose/gifts).



> Writing this fic was hard for me because of the crushing Catholic guilt I have, but I decided to use my knowledge of the church to give y'all something hot to read because what do I have to lose I'm already going to hell. 
> 
> I tried to be as least offensive as possible, but that was pretty hard to do in this case so...
> 
> Enjoy this sin xx

It was a quiet, lonely night in Gotham City. Darkness etched into every alley and street corner, all the lights seeming to flicker out and disappear the longer Bruce walked down the narrowing streets. He wasn’t usually out this late by himself-- not unless it was for something important-- but then again, wasn’t church important? Maybe to other people, but to him, it had always felt like a strange and unnecessary place to be. Did God really care so much whether you came so frequently or not? If he did, did that make him a narcissist? Bruce wasn’t sure.

You weren’t meant to question such things, really, but Bruce had always questioned things. Ever since his parents death it was all he could do-- the amount of times he had begged God to bring them back, cursed the the Lord for taking them away, prayed they were okay up in heaven if the place even existed… He’d questioned a lot. Too much, probably. Whenever he had brought it up to Alfred the man had told him to keep things simple, accept things as they are-- accept the uncertainty that came with this confusing life. But how could life be interesting if you didn’t question anything? It never made any sense to Bruce.

The questioning didn’t bother him, though. It was just part of who he was, and he hoped it wasn’t’ offensive to question God as much as he did everything else. He wasn’t that much of a believer anyways, but his parents were firm in their faith and had dragged him to Catholic church every Sunday morning when he was little. He had always hated it, but it seemed important to them, so he didn’t throw a fit. The last time he’d stepped foot in a church with his parents with him was at their funeral, and now, standing in front of the tall chapel, it felt strange to be going in alone.

There was no one to hold his hand, no one to explain all the complicated gospels and imagery on the stained glass windows, but he remembered bits and pieces. So, with all the strength he could muster, he pushed through the wooden, creaky doors, and into the quiet church. It was closing in an hour, so not a lot of people were around, just a few elderly women and men spaced out across the pews, bowing their heads to the crucifix hanging on the wall as they prayed silently. Bruce slid into one of the pews near the end, pulling out the kneeler and trying to get comfortable on top of it, which he didn’t think he would, really. The wood dug into his knees but he stayed put.

Now that he was actually in the church, he wasn’t sure what to do, or what prayers to say. Was he to recite the ones copied in the missalettes, like it was a script? No, that would feel wrong. So he let his eyes drift shut, and let his mind wander to the faint memories he had of the place with his parents. His mother would bring him sometimes for adoration, where they’d kneel in silence as they prayed to the eucharist sitting atop a marble counter, the body of Christ.

He decided to give it another try. Praying, for old times sake.

‘I don’t believe in you, so I feel like I’m having a conversation with myself, but... It’s been a while since we’ve talked.’ Bruce let his thoughts drift as he spoke to God, the fresh open wounds of his parents memory starting to sting as the haze of familiarity shadowed over him. ‘You were always someone my parents hoped and believed in, someone they relied on to keep them safe. So why? Why hurt them? Why take everything they had away when all they did was worship you?’

He could feel the wet, hot tears begin to burn across his cheeks, and the flash of anger he felt towards God ripped through him. Nothing felt fair when it came to religion, but then again, what __was__ fair? Because his life had never treated him like it-- him __or__ his family.

“May I sit?” A deep, soft voice startled him out of the silent mess in his head, and he turned towards the man slightly, body twisted. He nodded his head as what seemed to be a priest shuffled into the the pew. The man’s outfit was all black, save for the bit of white at the collar. The whole getup.

Bruce wondered if this was a sign, if God had sent someone to answer the endless series of questions in his mind. So he turned fully towards the man, rocking back from the kneeler to sit next to the priest. “Are you alright?” The man asked, and Bruce cursed silently as he remembered the tears on his face. Before he had the chance to wipe them away himself, the man was already dabbing at them with a handkerchief he pulled out of God knows where.

“Oh, um, thanks. I’m fine, really.” Bruce said, feeling a bit uncomfortable within the close proximity of the priest, who seemed a bit odd to Bruce. There was something in his eyes, something off. They were mesmerizing, and stood out against his pale skin. But they looked so void of feeling that Bruce was intrigued and scared at the same time.

“I can listen, if you’d like-- there’s obviously a lot on your mind.” The man said. “I’m Father Jeremiah, by the way. Feel free to… Unload.” The silkiness the man’s voice possessed when he spoke moved Bruce in ways that made him feel ashamed inside a church-- he hadn’t met a lot of attractive priests in his life. Most were old, and creepy. But this one was young and, well, still a bit creepy.

“Ah, okay, well..” Bruce cleared his throat, not knowing where to start. “I don’t believe in God, I think. But the anniversary of my parents death is coming up and I felt like I had to come here. For them, you know? But now that I’m here it’s… It makes me angry. And upset.” He bowed his head as he let the words flow out of him, feeling a great weight taken off his shoulders from getting it all out to someone, even if the person was a stranger.

He nearly jumped at the small pressure that was suddenly being pressed onto his shoulder, but relaxed into the comforting touch. “Why are you angry?” Jeremiah asked, hand giving a small squeeze to Bruce’s shoulder. He took a glance at the man, looking into his snake-like eyes as he tried to put together his thoughts, brain freezing as he saw the strange, eerie darkness hidden inside the large blacks of the man’s pupils. Yep, there was definitely something off about him. But… Maybe he shouldn’t question it. Maybe he needed to stop over thinking things for once. It was a fucking priest, not the devil.

“Because if God is real, then he’s to blame. Not the gunman in the alley, but… But the force that put him there. That made them get shot. That’s all on Him.” Bruce said, letting out a small huff as he raked his fingers through his hair, stomach in knots from all sorts of emotions stirring inside him, none good. Should he even be telling all this to a priest? He doubted that a believer would want to hear his God blaming rants.

“Maybe it is, maybe not. I believe it says God gave us free will, so in that case, it was that person’s choice, not God’s. Some people are just purely evil, I suppose. Demons among earth.” Jeremiah said, hand rubbing almost painfully across Bruce shoulder as the man’s eyes drifted towards the crucifix. Bruce followed his gaze, wondering what the man must be thinking at the moment. What he saw when he gazed at the stone face of Jesus. “You never know when tragedy can strike, or who can cause such chaos. Even the people right near you could be capable, you never know.”

Bruce tilted his head, curiosity fully peaked at the off sentence. It didn’t sound like a threat or a warning, but he knew there had to be some hidden meaning behind the words. The hand on his shoulder smoothed down his back, and Jeremiah turned a sharp, wide smile on him, face ripped sharply away from the crucifix. “But anyways, I’m sorry about your parents, and I’m sorry you can’t get a straight answer. When has religion ever been easy to understand, hm?”

Bruce nodded in agreement slowly, staring back into the dark abyss of the man’s strange eyes. Maybe he was just weird, but… There had to be something more to him, something Bruce was drawn to figure out. “Sorry for my ranting, um. How long have you been a priest?” The sharp change in subject made Jeremiah still for a split second, eyes spaced out till he relaxed once more, chin slightly raised as he seemed to think, a cutting smile etched into his face as he did so.

“About… Three years? I don’t keep count. The position is still pretty new to me, but it’s easy to preach to a bunch of thieves and widowers every Sunday in Gotham, so nothing too difficult.” Jeremiah chuckled, and Bruce shifted uneasily. Who referred to church goers like that?

“What made you want to be a priest-- and what were you before?” Bruce asked, unknowingly shifting closer to the man, interested in his answers. Jeremiah’s eyes looked all the more deep up close, and his lips looked too red. Was that lipstick he was wearing? Huh. Maybe he shouldn’t be staring at a priest’s lips, that’s probably a sin somewhere-- lust was bad enough, but lusting after a priest? Well, Bruce already had a one way ticket to hell but this confirmed it.

“I lived in a circus, believe it or not. Then a foster family took me in, and… Well, they introduced me to religion and all that nons-- great, stuff.” Jeremiah stumbled over the last of his words, and Bruce furrowed his brow at the mess. He wasn’t sure if he completely believed Jeremiah’s story, but he had a feeling part of it was true, he just wasn’t sure which.

“Why did you go into foster care?” Bruce asked hesitantly , shoulder pressed against the man’s as he leaned in closer, telling himself it was just so he could listen better as they talked in hushed voices in the quiet, almost empty church. But he knew it was just so he could see in more detail his face, and smell better the warm scent radiating off him-- dirt, metal, and roses was what stood out most. An interesting combination, one that left his brain fuzzy with lust and a daze of more confusion.

“Family issues…. My brother was too dangerous. Caused trouble-- then again, though, I wasn’t much of an angel myself.” Jeremiah said, a small smirk lifting up his painted lips. Bruce was mesmerized by them, and the words that fell through when they parted. This was definitely the most stimulating conversation he’d had with a priest, and the most interesting as well.

“Hm, I guess we both have some issues with family.” Bruce said. “But how do you deal with yours? I’m fine with mine most of the time, but it can get difficult to understand why I’m here at all to deal with them.” Jeremiah gave his back a small rub before his hand drifted away completely, gone to his lap, where his long fingers intertwined. Bruce thought they looked rather rough, a small bruise printed across one of the knuckles. Something he surely wouldn’t have caught if he wasn’t so close to the man.

“I like to express myself creatively. It helps.” Jeremiah said, breathing out a small laugh near the end. Bruce wondered what could possibly be funny in that sentence, but knew it must be something personal he didn’t understand.

“Oh, that’s nice. I do that through working, mostly. Keeping my mind occupied as I do projects.” Bruce said, fiddling with his fingers as he fought the urge to stare at any other inappropriate parts of the priest’s face-- God, what would his parents say about him feeling this way about such a holy man? He’d be shamed… But his parents weren’t here, and he learned long ago that dwelling on what they’d think when they weren’t there to confirm or deny anything only did more harm than good. So he let his eyes drift back to the curve of the man’s lips, the slight tint of color them, almost unnoticeable but up this close, so stunning and saturated.

“What other things do you keep your mind occupied on, hm?” Jeremiah asked, head tilted slightly as that cutting grin spread out across his face once more, this time more taunting and devious. Bruce hated that he loved it, hated how it made his heart start to beat faster, nearly bolting out of his chest. Every part of him tingled with the way the man looked at him-- with hunger and a predatory stare.

Bruce licked his lips-- they had become dry from the way his mouth was agape, breath coming in shorter and shorter the longer the two men held eye contact. “Nothing good, believe me.” Bruce laughed, voice cracking from the anxiety and shameless lust crushing his ribs. It made him sway even closer to Jeremiah, something about the man luring him in, wrapping him in a chokehold.

“Well then, my confessional is right around the corner…” Jeremiah said, chin tilted up so he could look down at Bruce. “If you’d like to repent for any sins weighing on your mind.” The man’s true intentions were shining in his eyes, the blacks of his pupils nearly swallowing the white. True desire hidden behind the darkness-- a darkness Bruce didn’t have time to examine at the moment, but would make note of to think about later.

Bruce was drawn out of his reverie as Jeremiah suddenly stood, hands folded behind his back professionally (Bruce guessed it was a performance for the few church goers still around) and gestured to the door near the end of the pews. Bruce quickly scampered up, clearing his throat and straightening himself out as he followed Jeremiah to the confessional. It wasn’t the kind you’d see in the movies and shows-- no curtains or separate booths, just one small room. The only difference was the inside, half the space separated by a covered screen. There was a kneeler in front of the one side, the only part Bruce could see from the entrance of the room. He didn’t think he’d be able to see the other side as Jeremiah went around the screen, gesturing for him to stay there.

Bruce couldn’t tell if this was actually going to end in sex or not, maybe Jeremiah actually was just a strange priest, nothing sexual about the encounter. Bruce had the bad habit of reading into things that seemed normal, or not that big of a deal. It was the curse that came with the title of ‘orphan’ but he was leaning to deal with it-- had been for a while, but obviously it wasn’t working.

Well, he was there already in the room, even if it didn’t end the way he wanted it to, so he could still use the moment to get some of the things that had been floating around in his mind out. He’d always been told when he was little that confession was like talking to God, in a way. The priest would take his sins up to God through prayer, and would give him the penance that the Lord wanted. It sounded all like bullshit to Bruce, but that’s how it was supposed to go.

He tried to remember the last time he had been to confession-- hell, it’d been years. Too many years, but he could still remember some of the basics, memorized prayers and routine still ingrained into him from having had to repeat it every weekend as a boy. Kneeling came first for confession, that was something he could remember. He could hear shuffling on the other side of the screen as he knelt upon the wooden slab, knees already beginning to ache once more.

It took him a while to say anything, trying to remember exactly what came next. “Um, bless me Father for I have sinned… It’s been who knows how long since my last confession, and these are my-- my sins.”  Silence. Right, he was supposed to continue right away. But what was he supposed to confess, exactly? What qualified as sin, and what didn’t? He tuned into the guilt that’d been twisting around him ever since he had stepped foot in the church, drawing the darkness out and into this room. He’d start with that.

“I lied. I lied to a lot of people, just so I could keep them safe.” He said, almost unsure of himself. “And I hurt some people, too--- mostly to protect myself, but there were times I let it go too far… Times where I couldn’t completely stop.” Most of the people he hurt were criminals, the scum of the earth… But he knew he could take it too far sometimes. He also knew he liked it sometimes, that it made a blaze of euphoria inflame his body-- either that, or the anger and violence for justice.

“Did hurting those people make you feel… Good?” Jeremiah’s silky voice finally spoke up from behind the screen, sounding slightly breathless. From what, Bruce wasn’t sure. But he brushed it off, thinking about his answer carefully. He had a feeling the priest wanted him to say yes, and he knew that was the truthful answer deep down, but he could barely admit it to himself, how was he supposed to say it out loud? No better time than in confession, though, right?

“I-I guess?” Bruce said, unsure of himself, anxiety starting to bloom, afraid what Jeremiah would think of him. A psychopath? A criminal? “I mean, I feel guilty about it, I do. But sometimes… Sometimes I‘ll think of my parents, and I get so angry, you know? Or other times it just feels good because… I don’t know.” He let out a frustrated sigh at his own words and feelings, trying to get his thoughts back in order. He didn’t want to dwell on these things, but at the same time, it felt extremely good to have someone to talk to about everything. And nothing could leave the room, he knew that. Everything he said would never be brought up again outside. All confidential.

“That’s alright. Sometimes we let ourselves fall into our darkest desires. There’s no shame in that-- but, of course, self restraint is key.” Jeremiah said, stumbling over his words. Why? Bruce wasn’t sure about the priest being, well, a priest. Priests usually seemed more good, but then again, who was Bruce to judge? He was inside of a church, not the best time to start reading people the wrong way.

“Yeah-- yeah, of course. Some things just feel so… So Good. When they shouldn’t. Or when I think they shouldn’t.” Bruce said, fiddling with the hem of his coat sleeve as he stressed even more over the words falling from his lips. All so risky to admit, but also exciting at the same time. There was a thrill that came with opening up, especially about the desires you hold so close to your heart. And here he was, doing it with a complete stranger. Laying his soul bare, for someone he barely knew. But it felt like they’d get to know each other quite well, Bruce just wasn’t sure if it was in a good or bad way yet. That’s what made it all so dangerous.

“What other bad things make you feel good?” Jeremiah asked, and Bruce could confirm for sure now that his breath was indeed coming in shorter, it was evident in the way the man’s words hitched when he rolled out the words ‘feel good’ in a tone so sultry and seductive Bruce’s own breath got caught up, mind wandering to the endless possibilities of what was going on behind that screen.

He let a hand wander between his legs as his eyes fluttered shut, giving into the temptation to press against his clothed clock-- just to release some of the tension that was boiling up in the room. “Is it bad to touch myself, Father?” He asked, taking the leap into the dangerous territory his mind was screaming for him to back away from-- this was wrong, so wrong. But he couldn’t help himself. As soon as he had laid eyes on Jeremiah, he knew bad things were to come from.

He could hear the small gasp from the other side, and then a low moan that made him push his hand harder against the front of his trousers, rubbing it slowly down, then up as he let his own sound of arousal flow into the quiet confessional. “Come here.” Jeremiah said, finally. Bruce was hoping he wouldn’t have to be tortured any longer with waiting-- didn’t think he could last that long touching himself.

What he saw when he came around to the other side of the screen nearly made him stumble back-- there was Jeremiah, sitting in a wooden chair with legs spread out completely, a large tent in the front of his black pants with the zipper undone. “Fuck…Father.” Bruce murmured, mouth watering at the indecent sight of a priest in such a tantalizing position. Oh he was surely going to hell for this… He hoped his parents would forgive him when he didn’t show up at the pearly gates. At least he tried going to church for the right reasons, but who knew such an interesting, attractive man was set behind the doors?

“Kneel, in front of me. You’re not done with your confession yet now, are you?” Jeremiah purred, voice taking on a whole different edge, completely open now, no holding back from unleashing the hidden desire from what he said and did. Bruce certainly liked this side of the man, and obeyed immediately by coming to kneel in front of the priest, eye level with the man’s clothed cock.

He watched as Jeremiah’s hand slithered down between his open thighs, slipping underneath his trousers and moving slowly, tempting Bruce even more. He wanted so badly to lean forward and replace that hand with his mouth-- would beg, even, if that’s what it took. But he had to listen and repent, first. Or he might not get anything at all.

“I’m having some very sinful thoughts right now, Father.” He said, eyes flickering between the priest’s face and his hands, not sure which sight was better-- the flushed, pale skin and wide pupils, or the actions which were causing such a reaction. “Involving you. I-I was touching myself while thinking about it.”

“What were you thinking about, exactly?” Jeremiah’s eyes were still open, trained on him as his hand began to speed up, making Bruce’s pants tighten even more. He wanted desperatly to touch himself-- or Jeremiah, anything to relieve the near painful feeling of his hard cock, pressing untouched against his pants. He decided to give in just a bit, hand reaching down to palm at his own erection. It only lasted half a second, though, before Jeremiah’s free hand smacked it away as he shook his head.

“Sorry, Father.” Bruce said, tongue darting out to wet his increasingly dry lips. “I was thinking about-- about sucking your cock. Please, would you let me? I’ll say my Hail Mary’s afterwards, I swear.” Bruce pleaded, shuffling closer on his knees, in between Jeremiah’s spread legs. He let his head rest on top of the man’s thigh, rubbing his cheek against it as he watched Jeremiah’s hand come to a stop inside his pants.

“Pray to me, Bruce, while you have my cock in your mouth.” Jeremiah said, withdrawing his hand completely now. “Pray to only me.” Bruce nodded fervently, glancing up at Jeremiah’s flushed face as he reached out to pull down the man’s pants a bit so he could gain more access to inside them. Jeremiah helped him, pulling out his cock from behind his black boxer briefs. Fuck, Bruce was really about to give a priest a blowjob? Never had he ever thought he’d end up in such a wild scenario but, well, there he was, on his knees and begging like a whore. And he fucking loved every second of it.

With no doubt or fear in his mind, he leaned forward and took the man’s cock in his mouth, tongue swirling around the edges of the heated skin as he slowly stretched his mouth wider to fit more of the length inside. He made sure not to push himself too far just yet, only pushing his face a few inches down. But then Jeremiah started to thrust-- gently, of course, but it still came as a surprise, cock hitting the back of his throat. He managed not to gag at the sensation, though, hollowing his cheeks out as he sucked on the thick length. It wasn’t the most pleasant taste, but the sounds he was managing to draw out from the priest was all the reward he could want or need.

“Holy Father, I beg you…” Bruce panted as a he slowly pulled off, tongue edging around the head of the man’s cock as he did so. “To put your cock inside me.” Their eyes locked as he ‘prayed’ to the man, a heated gaze of lust that had Bruce’s insides boiling till he could feel nothing but heat in his loins. Jeremiah’s long finger came to rest underneath his chin, curling up. Bruce obediently raised himself up with the digit, crawling slowly on top of the man. He rested on Jeremiah’s thigh, chin still hooked on the finger till it pulled him forward into a slow, heated kiss.

He licked inside the man’s mouth, hot breath mixing together as their lips moved in sync, soon following their bodies. Bruce began to grind against Jeremiah’s thigh, a sigh escaping into the priest’s mouth from the satisfaction of finally having some pressure against his restrained cock. They moved slowly at first, Jeremiah’s hand sliding down to grab at his ass while the other cupped his face as they kissed, almost gentle, as if they were lovers coming together after months from being apart, savoring every moment, every breath shared, and every feeling held onto tightly, for fear it’d all slip away.

Bruce was afraid it would, wasn’t sure if this was reality, a nightmare, or a dream. Maybe it was a mix between them all-- he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it felt too good to be real, and he desperately hoped that it was. “Please…” He moaned into the priest’s mouth, pulling his face away slightly-- not so their kiss was broken, but so that their lips were merely just brushing together, a breath away. He just wanted to see the man better. “Please fuck me, Father.”

Jeremiah’s lips twitched into another one of his tempting smirks, this time eating up nearly half of his face. Bruce felt the man grab his ass as their kiss really was broken off this time, Bruce leaning back so Jeremiah could get to his pants easier. He let the man unzip them and pull them down, along with his boxers. “Hmm, what would God have to say about this?” Jeremiah said. “You, whoring yourself out to a priest. Do you think he’d forgive you?”

The man’s lips brushed against his ear as he spoke, hand grabbing Bruce’s hard, leaking cock. Somehow he managed not to scream from pleasure, instead wrapping his arms tightly around Jeremiah’s neck, muffling a moan into the skin there. “I hope he doesn’t… I hope I get to fuck you in hell.” Fuck, the man’s words were as sinful as his touch, and Bruce couldn’t help but thrust into the hand around his cock, nearly sobbing as it slid up, tightening at the head of his cock, before sliding down and applying a firm pressure there.

Bruce dug his teeth gently into the flesh of the man’s throat, muffling a cry there as his body jerked with every motion of the man’s hand. “I’m going to fuck the sin out of you.” Jeremiah whispered hotly in his ear, and Bruce nearly came at the words, but instead just held on tight to the man’s black, clerical shirt, fisting the fabric as he panted into the man’s hot skin. His body felt like it was aflame, every touch from the priest setting a new flame across his flesh till he was consumed by the fire of desire and lust. It suffocated him, and charred his aching soul, but he let it grow.

Bruce watched one of Jeremiah’s hand slither into a hidden compartment behind a small wooden desk, pulling out what looked to be a small bottle of lube. A bit strange that it was there, unless Jeremiah had prepared. But why would a priest prepare for something like this? “Do all priests just have lube hidden in their confessionals?” Bruce asked, voice completely ruined from the strenuous sounds Jeremiah had pulled from him. He hoped the few people left in the church had left-- it would be shitty if they were caught. Jeremiah could be in serious trouble if it happened.

“Hm? No,” he laughed, “It’s just something I put there… Just in case, you know? Didn’t think I’d actually need it, but… Well, there you were.” Jeremiah was spreading the thick substance over his hands now, wads of it covering his skin. “You ready?” Bruce nodded, shuffling about and leaning a bit forward against the man so one of the priest’s hands could come down between his legs, the other jerking himself off, rubbing the liquid over his cock. A knot formed in his stomach as the man’s finger slipped inside him, slowly moving about for a while before another was added.

It was rather uncomfortable at first, but Bruce tried not to focus on the painful bits of the process, instead letting his eyes drift to the man’s thick cock. He reached out a hand to help Jeremiah, wrapping his fingers below the other man’s so they were both pumping his cock together. A groan rumbled out from Jeremiah’s heaving chest at what Bruce imagined to be a very pleasant sensation. Good, he wanted to make him feel it just as much as Bruce. Make him fall from grace. An angel of God-- a preacher-- come with him into the depths of sin.

He only let go of the man’s cock when the fingers started working him open, pushing inside till Jeremiah was surely knuckles deep. “Fuck, Father.” His words were slurred into a desperate moan, and he let the sound echo into the quiet confessional, their filth smeared onto the palace of God, marking their sin for all of heaven and hell to see. And they did it all shamelessly, Bruce grinding back onto the fingers thrusting inside him, Jeremiah’s dark eyes watching him like a predator, watching their prey caught in a trap. Bruce almost felt threatened by the look, but with his arousal mixed into play, he felt more turned on than anything.

He hissed as the fingers were harshly removed, Jeremiah’s large hands heaving his body up till the man’s cock was now pressed against his ass. “Forgive me father, for I am about to sin.” Bruce breathed against Jeremiah’s lips, right before he sank onto his cock. He hissed at the sting of pain from his muscles stretching, both men stilling to grow used to the sensation before Bruce lifted his body up a bit, then pushed back down.

Jeremiah hands were grabbing at his ass, nails sinking into the flesh almost painfully as he jerkily thrust up as Bruce sank down a second time, then a third, a fourth, and so on. Synchronized thrusts and movements, all coming together in an orchestra of skin slapping together, and moans mixing in. “Make me come, Father. Please.” Bruce said, biting onto the open collar of Jeremiah’s shirt to muffle the sounds that were fucked out of him, all loud and filthy.

He could feel Jeremiah’s smirk against his cheek, then gasped as the man’s warm hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it in time with every thrust. Bruce could feel the energy coursing through his body from the movement, skin blazing as heat coiled in his gut, tightening and tightening like a spiral closing in, right up till it all became too much, and everything snapped. His body shook in spasms against the man as crashing waves of pleasure fell down upon him, shaking him to his core.

The fire of lust had consumed him, eating him alive so he was trapped inside the blue flames of euphoria. He didn’t cease his movements, though, still rocking his body against Jeremiah’s till he could feel the man’s own release, both men stuck together with sweat and come. Bruce lifted his head to look at Jeremiah’s flushed face, wet dark hair stuck to his forehead. Bruce pushed it away with a trembling finger, leaning in for a slow, open kiss.

It was pleasant, and not as heated as their fucking had been. No, things were slowly coming back to a normal pace, one where reality could squirm it’s way back into Bruce’s life. All the horrors of shame and guilt, filling him up to the brim. This was wrong, he told himself. So, so wrong. And although he wasn’t one to believe, he was afraid as soon as he set foot outside the church doors that God would sent a bolt of lightning from the sky to burn him for his sins.

“I shouldn’t have done this.” Bruce murmured against Jeremiah’s lips, a small sigh of frustration escaping him as his thoughts turned to darkness and pain once more. Moments of pleasure didn’t last forever, unfortunately, and the reality of the situation was sinking in unpleasantly with Bruce. He quickly pushed himself back, off of Jeremiah till he toppled to the floor, pants still pooled around his ankles. He awkwardly fixed his pants and shirt, sitting there on the floor, staring up at Jeremiah’s now stone faced look. Completely unreadable.

“I’m not at an actual priest, Bruce.” Jeremiah said as he buckled up his pants, dragging his long, thick fingers through his messed up hair. Bruce shook his head slowly, brain frozen from the words. Not a priest? But that didn’t make any sense… He knew there was something weird going on but had chalked it up to Jeremiah just wanting sex but this didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t understand…” Bruce murmured, slowly standing from the floor. He felt tired, body aching and heavy as he forced himself up. But his mind weighed even heavier, and it was hard to get a clear view on the situation when his brain was still foggy from sex. He could barely think straight, and this was too much to process at the moment. “What do you mean you’re not a priest? You obviously are.”

Jeremiah’s face turned soft, then, and he got up from the wooden chair at last, coming to stand in front of Bruce, cupping his face in his sweaty palms. “I can tell this is worrying you, but there’s no need to stress. This…” He gestured to himself. “All a role. For fun, you know?” No, Bruce didn’t know. And he was having trouble piecing it together. Why would dressing up as a priest and seducing visitors be fun? What kind of twisted mind did the man have, and why did Bruce kind of like it?

“A role? Are you a prostitute or something? Do I need to pay you?” Bruce asked. Jeremiah laughed and shook his head, patting Bruce’s cheek. “Then why did you do all this” Why is this fun?” The man only laughed harder, dark eyes lit with embers of red that were gone in a flash. Shit, he must be imagining things for real now. Bruce didn’t want to think about it, but there was something evil glowing in those eyes, he could see it.

Jeremiah’s face grew nearer to his as he whispered a response against his parted lips. “That’s for you to figure out. You seem very smart and intelligent, Bruce, I’m sure you can do it.” A firm press of lips, then Jeremiah was leaning out of his space completely, fixing his garments. “I hope I get to see you again in the future, certainly not again in this church but somewhere more appropriate. And as for your penance…”

Bruce froze as he grew closer again, face moving past his as his teeth latched onto Bruce’s earlobe, tugging it gently before softening it with his tongue. “Touch yourself each day this week, thinking of me, and my cock.” The words sent shivers down Bruce’s spine, and blood rushing back to his cock. But he composed himself as Jeremiah slipped out of the room, taking a few deep breaths in before he stepped out in into the open church.

Jeremiah was nowhere to be seen, and Bruce wondered where he had gone. All the people in the place seemed to have left as well, and Bruce hoped it wasn’t because of the loud noises. But it was best not to think too hard about that. He was still turning over the unanswered questions Jeremiah had left him with in his mind, an eerie feeling eating at him as he thought about everything. There had to be a reason, or an explanation for what had happened. Or maybe it all was just some random trick the man had decided to play, but it all seemed strange to Bruce.

As he walked outside, the night skies of Gotham greeted him with the same dark and evil feelings, shadows cascading out across the cement as he walked. He felt like they’d close in on him any second and devour him, make him one with the darkness, just like he’d been one with sin. But he ignored them and quickened his pace, coming to a halt at the entrance to the alley near the church. Maybe he could catch Jeremiah if he walked down it-- it was usually the fastest route to go down if you wanted to reach the better parts of the city, instead of taking the winding, dangerous roads.

Bruce stepped into the darkness and followed it down the narrow alleyway, eyes drifting over the graffiti and trash littering the place, till they locked onto something from behind one of the trash bags. He took out his phone quickly, turning on the flashlight and aiming the tunnel of light towards the bags. He could see clearly now the body that was half eaten up by the trash, only the upper part visible while the rest was submerged in the filth. A sinking feeling crashed onto Bruce as he stepped closer, carefully leaning over the body to inspect the face. The man was familiar to him, someone he hadn’t seen in a long time…

As his eyes drifted further down, everything clicked in his head. His clothes were gone, but there was still a scapular and medal hanging from around his neck. Father Rick. Bruce remembered him from his childhood-- he’d give mass every Sunday at 11… But where had his garments went? Who would’ve done such a thing-- to a priest, nonetheless.

But then Bruce thought of Jeremiah, of the dark soul leaking from even darker eyes. How it was all fun… How he wasn’t really a priest… This was all a game. And Bruce had played and enjoyed it. Every second of it, while the man he had idolized as a child was out here rotting with the thrown out, moldy food of the restaurant next door.

But the funny thing about it was…

Bruce was still drawn to Jeremiah. The man practically owned him now, ever since their eyes met in the church… Something about them clicked. But this was something he would never have predicted. He’d fallen not only into lust, but also into a trap. The question was, though, did Bruce actually want to escape it?

He wasn’t sure he did. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this wasn't one my best works, I wrote most of it at 3am, but I'm somewhat satisfied with how it turned out. And in case anyone needs some clarification: Jeremiah is a demon who killed the priest and wanted to offend God by playing the role. The demon part wasn't really covered but that seemed like just too much to unpack all in a one shot. Lets just say Bruce has his suspicions (aka the red eyes he saw).
> 
> Leave any questions/opinions/etc below!


End file.
